


Baggage You Can’t Leave Behind

by onawingandaswear



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty and Jack talk it out, Bitty just wants to be happy, Discussions of Past Trauma, Internalized Homophobia, Jack just wants Bitty to be happy, M/M, kinda angsty with hope for the furture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 21:19:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15566538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onawingandaswear/pseuds/onawingandaswear
Summary: Eric has quietly struggled with his body image for years and now that Jack has gone public with their relationship, the added scrutiny has Eric tripping over emotional landmines he isn't prepared to handle.





	Baggage You Can’t Leave Behind

Eric started shaving in middle school.

Not his face — he’s never grown much in the way of facial hair — but when he hit puberty Eric found the outfits he wore in competition were always a little more comfortable against smooth skin. Every shower, every bath, a quick few passes with a razor and he was done. Over time, and only somewhat thanks to a new relationship giving him a renewed appreciation for the term ‘clean shaven’, that routine evolved into something slightly more elaborate; he shaved a little higher, kept things smooth and in order, any excuse to be a little closer to his partner.

Eric likes to feel as much as possible, particularly when his very large, very handsome boyfriend is on top of him.

Now, unlike Bitty, who takes care to wax, trim, and shave what little hair decides to grow in a shade too dark, Jack practically ignores his body hair.

Eric watches in the mirror one morning when Jack hikes a leg onto the edge of the tub to trim his pubic hair to a more manageable tangle after a long stretch of away games, and the razor never touches another part of his body. Not his legs, not his chest, not the soft thatch that sneaks wispily from his stomach to his groin.

Eric thinks about his extra long showers, shea butter bath bombs, moisturizers, lotions, and skin creams. The fact that below the waistband of his shorts and between his legs, there is nothing that resembles what he’s looking at now.

Though the action starts unconsciously, Eric catches himself rubbing the sole of his foot on his smooth, toned calf, thinking  _‘You look like a girl.’_

“Bits? You okay?”

The address shakes him out of his daze and he smiles at Jack’s reflection.

“Just admiring the view, honey.”

“Yeah? Like what you see?”

Eric’s boyfriend grins wide, his new white bridge teeth contrasting sharply with his dark playoff beard. In response, Eric undoes the knot on the towel around his waist, dropping it to the floor and cocking his hip before countering, “Do you?”

He doesn’t  _just_ shave for Jack. He likes the way his skin feels, he likes the way he looks. He tells himself this isn’t his own insecurity, it’s a social construct that’s built a tiny stronghold within him; but later, when Jack is asleep beside him, Eric pulls Jack’s arm over his chest and takes note of his own hands against his partner’s.

Jack’s rough callouses and penchant for nervous nail-biting offer a hell of a contrast to Eric’s own baby soft skin and manicured fingers. Sure, he has his own callouses from years of hockey, but somehow they’re different. Fading. Less masculine since he graduated and left collegiate sports behind him.

He feels something off, something that isn’t necessarily his own.

Judgment, maybe. Shame, probably.

These aren’t his thoughts. 

Eric is happy; in his life, in his relationships, and he loves his body but sometimes he plays a traitor to himself, mind echoing the vicious insults of his youth.

“Bits,” Jack whispers, pulling Eric close and tickling his fingertips over Eric’s smooth stomach.  _“_ I can hear you thinking, bud.”

“Oh, can you?” Eric whispers back, moving Jack’s hand up again to press a kiss against his boyfriend’s rough knuckles.

Jack groans obnoxiously and rolls over to sprawl spread eagle on top of Eric.

 _“Lord_ — get off! You’re squishing me!”

“No, your thinking woke me up and I have to crush you,” Jack mumbles tiredly against Eric’s neck. “I love you so much you have to die by squishing. Murdered by hockey greatness.”

“Why do I love you,” Eric laments, shoving Jack to the side so he can shimmy out from under Jack’s thighs.

“He loves me,” Jack cheers lamely, lifting a fist to the ceiling in a mock-celly before rolling his head to look at Eric, his concern barely visible in the room’s dim light. “But, seriously, you’ve been weird all night. Did something happen at dinner?”

Eric takes a breath before rolling over onto Jack, legs spread on either side of his waist so he can rest back on Jack’s pelvis. They’re both wearing underwear and it’s not sexy, just practical if the ‘ _oof’_ Jack lets out is anything to go by.

Jack rests his hands on Eric’s thighs with a soft  _slap_  and a gentle shake, asking sternly, “Who do I need to kill? Say the word.”

Eric covers Jack’s hands with his own, stretching his fingers out far enough to touch the wiry hair on Jack’s forearms, trying to think of an answer. Jack can’t very well fight the demons of Eric’s past, but maybe he can stop them from advancing any further into the present.

“Why are you with me?” Eric asks, holding his boyfriend’s hands in place and trying to convince himself this is a question he actually needs an answer to.

“What?”

The bemused expression on Jack’s face turns serious before Jack pushes himself up against the headboard, Eric dutifully scooting forward to not lose his seat as Jack moves to switch on the light.

“What kind of question is that? Did someone say something to you?”

“It’s not anything anyone said, it’s just…” Eric puts his hand against Jack’s chest before pulling Jack’s hand onto Eric’s own, imploring him to just  _understand_. “I’m me. You’re you.”

“ _You’re you_ ,” Jack echoes, tapping his fingertips against Eric’s pec. “Bits, why wouldn’t I be with you?”

“I’m not this,” Eric reaches out and tugs at Jack’s chest hair. “ _Masculine_.”

“ _Easy_ , bud, those are attached, okay, you don’t have chest hair but that doesn’t mean you aren’t, what, ‘ _masculine_ ’? You’re a man, by definition you’re masculine. You played hockey, you’re not…did someone call you…?” Jack can’t even finish the sentence, his lips curling up into a sneer.

“You can say it,” Eric says softly, leaning into the pain of the conversation because all he can hear is the doubt in Jack’s voice. “It’s true.”

“It’s not  _fucking_  true,” Jack huffs, running his hands over Eric’s thighs, comforting himself more than Eric. “You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect.”

“I don’t want to be a stereotype,” Eric whispers, looking anywhere but Jack’s face, “and I think I am, now? I don’t have hockey anymore, I don’t do anything, I don’t have a career or any prospects…why are you with me? You could be with anyone and you’re  _you_ and I…I’m a cliche, Jack. I’m small and gay and people see me with you and —”

Eric presses his lips together to keep his composure; he’s accidentally tripped something big, bigger and older than he was maybe prepared to deal with this early in the morning.

“Bits,” Jack says softly, “ _Eric._  Look at me. Please.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” Eric whispers tightly and in response Jack pulls him into a hug, resting his chin on Eric’s head.

“You don’t have to look at me. I understand. You feel like you stop being a real person, right?”

It’s the tiny push Eric needs to let go, his sniffles quickly turning to deep, heaving sobs that shake his entire body.

“It’s okay, bud,” Jack soothes, running his hands alone Eric’s back as he cries. “You’re okay.”

 _“_ I’m not, _”_  Eric bawls against Jack’s shoulder.  _“_ I’m not okay. I shouldn’t still feel like this —”

Eric can’t get anything else out, too caught up in his own emotion to breathe, let alone speak, and god knows how long they both actually sit there until Eric’s legs begin to cramp and he runs out of tears.

“I’m sorry,” Eric sniffs, wiping his face with the edge of a pillowcase. “I don’t know where that came from.”

Jack gives him a moment of grace, enough for Eric to think he’s gotten away with the lie, but when Jack nudges Eric’s chin up with a firm touch, Eric realizes he’s been caught.

“You’re upset, that’s understandable,” Jack says carefully, clearly trying to prevent another round of crying.  “But I don’t believe for a second you don’t know what this is about.”

“It’s dumb,” Eric breathes, letting the weight of his head rest on Jack’s fingers.

“Okay, there — look, it’s not dumb and if it hurts you this much, it’s not ‘ _nothing_ ’. You don’t have to tell me what happened but I want to know as much as you’re willing to share.”

Eric’s energy is gone but what he’s lost Jack seems to have gained; he’s awake, alert, and far more invested in this conversation than Eric was hoping he’d be. 

Eric presses a hand to Jack’s chest,  _again_ , and watches as Jack follows the motion with curiosity.

“You keep doing that,” Jack murmurs, gaze flicking back to Eric. “You keep touching me but you’re not doing it like you enjoy it.”

For the second time that night, shame burns hot and sudden behind Eric’s eyes.

“I love you so much,” Eric forces, throat tight. “And I don’t understand how you can love me back.”

The tears come again and Jack pulls him close, tighter than before.

“Easy, bud, let it out,” Jack soothes, whispering into Eric’s hair. “Let it out.”

This time Eric gets a second wind and he’s not just sad, he’s angry. Really, really angry.

“I don’t understand how you can be attracted to me,” Eric repeats fiercely, voice thick with tears, “because I think  _I’m_  not attracted to me. That’s insane, isn’t it?”

“No, bud, it’s not insane, you’re just not your type –”

“No,  _you_  are my type, that’s the whole point,” Eric rears back and scrubs at his face roughly.  “You’re everyone’s type and I’m the human embodiment of a defiled snack food.”

“There is…a lot to unpack there, do you want to look like me?” Jack asks motioning to himself. “Bits, I don’t like my body. I never have. Logically, I know I’m handsome, there are people who are attracted to me, who love me —” Jack taps Eric’s trembling lower lip gently “—but being on the Swallow’s Top 50 list didn’t suddenly erase the damage done by tabloids calling me ugly as a child. I have to carry that with me, every time you compliment me, I have to run that compliment against two decades of self-doubt. We all have our baggage and you’ve told me how shitty people were to you for being…small. There’s no way in hell you didn’t internalize that.”

“But I’m out now,” Eric sniffs, interrupting his boyfriend. “And you’re out and it’s different. People look at us and you’re the one everyone’s surprised about; that’s by design. I spent so long trying not to be  _this,_ trying not to let anyone know, and it didn’t matter at all. I’m a fucking cliché.”

“No, no,  _Lapin_ ,” Jack brow furrows and he reaches out to cup Eric’s cheek, gently thumbing away a rogue tear. “Nothing about you is stereotypical. And you keep saying ‘everyone’, who is ‘everyone’?”

“I’m small and blonde and gay, Jack! I bake, I wear inappropriately short clothing, I love Beyoncé, I’m a —“

Jack covers Eric’s mouth with his hand, muffling the slur on the tip of Eric’s tongue.

“ _Enough_. Nothing I can say tonight is going to undo years of self-hatred, Bits. That’s not how it works. The best I can do is tell you I love you for who you are, not in spite of it. I can also seriously recommend you talk to my therapist because it is possible to be gay and a little homophobic at the same time. I’m proof of that. Apparently, you are, too.”

Eric’s anger dissipates slightly as Jack’s words sink in and he pulls away from his boyfriend’s hand to argue, “I’m  _not_ homophobic, how can you even say that? After everything I’ve been through?”

“Bits, you doubt your value as my partner because of a societal misconception you were very likely raised with. Maybe homophobic is too harsh but you clearly have prejudices affecting how you see the world, how you see yourself, and apparently how you see  _me,_ too.”

“I don’t judge you.”

The statement feels wrong the moment the words leave his lips because it is. He’s judging Jack as harshly as he’s judging himself, just in a different way. Eric falls back on his haunches and the fight leaves him completely.

“You do, Bits. I just didn’t realize  _this_  was the reason behind it. It sounds like you’ve made me the opposite side of whatever coin you’re judging yourself by and I’m, what, your idea of what a _real_ man should look like?”

Jack runs a hand along Eric’s (smooth) leg and urges him to move over.

“I’m not prejudiced, Jack,” Eric repeats, rolling to the side. “Or, I don’t want to be.”

“We all have our shit,” Jack grunts, kicking off the comforter. “When I was eleven I was thought you didn’t want a gay teammate because ‘cocksucking was contagious’. I spent too much time in the locker room with my dad’s teammates and I picked up a lot of shit. That was only one of several  _dozen_ notable incidents that resulted in the deep-seated, internalized homophobia I am still dealing with today. Hell, Bits, you didn’t even know I liked men until we were making out, that wasn’t an accident —”

A soft chime interrupts Jack; an alarm set to wake him for his morning run.

“— Fuck.”

“It can’t be that early already,” Eric panics, desperate not to leave the conversation unfinished, “please stay.”

“Nope. Come run with me,” Jack offers, sliding out of bed to pull on his sweats. “We’re both processing a lot right now, it’ll clear your head.”

“I haven’t jogged with you in months, I —“

Jack disappears into the closet and emerges holding Eric’s favorite floral-print Ivy Park compression leggings, and a Samwell hoodie.

“I’ll go slow. We can keep talking, but I need to get you out of this house.”

“Jack.”

“Eric, listen to me. Really listen. You are the most handsome, kind, generous man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, but I fell in love with you because you’re  _you._ Because you love Beyoncé and baking, and taking care of me. Everything that makes you who you are, not just how you look. Would you say the same about me? If I didn’t have my huge ass or sharp cheekbones? Would you still want to be with me?”

Eric nods, taking the clothes from his partner’s outstretched hands.

“Then come run with me. We can work out your insecurities later, right now I just want to be Jack and Eric for a while.”

“Sweet-Pea and Bits,” Eric echoes, running his fingers over the Samwell emblem. “Lord, I’m going to need so much therapy, aren’t I.”

“Good thing I’m rich,” Jack chirps. “Another perk we failed to stereotype, eh?”

“I love you,” Eric blurts, still sitting on the bed while Jack dresses. “I don’t want you to ever think differently.”

“Loving yourself and loving another person are two very different things,” Jack replies, moving to stand over Eric. “But they don’t have to be mutually exclusive,  _Lapin_.”

Eric leans forward to press his face against Jack’s still-bare stomach.

“I don’t want to hate myself, Sweet-Pea. I love everyone so much, why can’t I feel the same about who I am?”

“Because you’ve got damage, bud, just like me,” Jack answers, carding his fingers through Eric’s hair. “But now you’ve identified it, so you can try to heal it.”

“If you want me to run with you, maybe don’t make me cry again?”

“Go hard enough and your face will be blotchy from exhaustion, the one human being we see will be none the wiser. Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted to Tumblr


End file.
